


Demigod

by garbage_dono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Demisexual Katsuki Yuuri, Demisexuality, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbage_dono/pseuds/garbage_dono
Summary: At a young age, Yuuri Katsuki resigned himself to the thought that he was broken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Demi Yuuri is super important to me.
> 
> I actually ID as ace myself, not demi, but I wanted to integrate a few of my experiences into this and play around with it. A little angst at the beginning, but it's not what I wanted to focus on.

At a young age, Yuuri Katsuki resigned himself to the thought that he was broken.

He wasn't entirely sure what made him realize it. Nobody ever told him as much. Oh, there was lighthearted teasing here and there, and the term “late bloomer” was tossed around a lot – a phrase that he hated more than he thought a person could hate a pair of words. It was all in good fun, all meant to be supportive, to push him in the "right direction", and he learned to take it in stride.

“Are you seeing anyone, Yuuri?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh, she's pretty, don't you think?”

“Mmhm.”

“I know a girl you'd probably like – let me give her your number!”

“N-no, that's okay!”

It got old, but he couldn't find it in him to say so, and his family and friends weren't hurting anybody. They only wanted the best for him, after all.

And besides, it wasn't the constant probing into his personal life that got to him. He was far better at twisting his own thoughts than anyone else would ever be. As hard as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but notice the way other students talked at school. He caught the way his friends' eyes wandered to the hem of girls' skirts, or the dip of boys' collarbones when they peaked out during gym class.

Every time he went to a movie, he'd see women swoon and men bend over backward for love interests that had shared less than an hour of screen time. It never bothered him so much as it left him confused, feeling left out and alien, like he wasn't privy to some big secret that everyone else had learned years before.

He accepted it, focused his attention on things that did matter to him and moved on. Eventually, the lighthearted teasing stopped. He figured they'd just given up.

* * *

Phichit was the first person to ever bring it up, after a year of training in Detroit. He said it so casually, that he might have been asking about the weather, or about Yuuri's favorite book. “So,” he mused, his lips barely grazing the rim of his steaming chai latte, “Do you like guys or girls?”

Yuuri coughed on his muffin, his face burning hot as his mind went blank. Phichit had taken to living in America more quickly than he had – it had boosted his confidence, made him bold and curious. Maybe that was why he asked so easily.

Phichit blinked at him, looking worried. “Sorry...” he offered. “I figured...well, it never came up, and I was just curious. You never mentioned being with anyone, and I didn't want to assume-”

“It's okay,” Yuuri coughed, and he shrugged as he rolled a lone blueberry around on the table under his finger. “I...don't really know.”

“Well, that's okay!” Phichit beamed at him. “You still have plenty of time to figure out what you like, you know? No pressure!”

“I like skating,” Yuuri muttered. He tossed the blueberry into his mouth, and that was the end of it.

* * *

A week later, Yuuri brought it up again. He hadn't thought he would – not when he still felt his face warm up at the thought of it. He and Phichit were lacing their skates in the warmup room when he sighed. “There is...was...one girl back in Hasetsu.”

Phichit glanced up at him. “Really?” He grinned. “What's her name?”

“Yuuko,” Yuuri said, looking away so Phichit wouldn't see how pink his cheeks were. “She was a few years older. We were good friends as kids. I still text with her sometimes...”

When he looked up again, Phichit was gazing at him with his chin resting on the heels of his hands. “You like her?”

“I...guess. But it never... _we_ never...it wasn't...” He sighed, wondering if he could blame the redness of his face on the heater next to the bench. “It was just a crush, you know?”

It felt odd to say, and he realized he'd never admitted it before. He'd never felt the need.

Phichit was still smiling. “You should introduce me sometime if I ever get to come visit you in Japan.” He leaned back and laughed, winking when he caught Yuuri's eye again. “I want to see if she can hold a candle to Victor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri choked and dropped his other skate, earning him a stern reprimand from Celestino as Phichit gasped with laughter in the corner.

* * *

He fantasized about Victor, sometimes, but not in the way that most people probably would have thought. He drifted off and lost himself in thoughts of Victor gliding over the ice, effortless and beautiful, replaying his choreography over and over in his own head like he could absorb that talent and ability into himself if he concentrated hard enough.

He wondered what it would be like to talk to him, to skate with him on the same ice. He wondered what he smelled like, what his skin might feel like under his fingers. Once or twice, Yuuri caught himself thinking about what it might be like to kiss him.

It was just curiosity – never went farther than that. He did touch himself on occasion, even though his libido had never been as high as what he'd always considered the “norm.” But when he got himself off, he never thought about much in particular. It was never anything more than a need that he tended to, like drinking a glass of water or getting enough sleep.

He didn't think of Victor when he got himself off, at least not usually. A few times, he opened his eyes and caught those familiar blue ones staring back at him from one of his posters, and his mind tended to wander. A part of him figured it was supposed to.

It was only natural, wasn't it?

He tried it, once or twice, but as much as his mind liked to turn over fantasies of kissing or touching, the rest felt artificial, like he was trying to force it. It didn't feel _wrong,_ but he couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't quite fit. More often than not, he went to bed without coming those nights, content to lose himself in thoughts of what it would be like to have Victor watching from the stands as he skated a perfect routine choreographed just for him.

A wild fantasy in its own right.

* * *

One of the first things he learned about Victor – that he couldn't find on any website or in any gossip magazine – was that he was cripplingly afraid of spiders.

He found out when a deafening crash sent him leaping out of bed and sprinting down the hall. In a strange way, he was thankful, since it had pulled him out of a long and tiring string of thoughts as he'd tried to make sense of the events that had led Victor Nikiforov of all people to come to Hasetsu. It gave him better things to focus on, like figuring out why Victor was cowering in the corner of his room, holding Makkachin to his chest like some kind of furry shield, both of them surrounded by toppled cardboard boxes.

“Is someone dead?” Mari asked, leaning around the corner.

“Just Victor,” Yuuri sighed. “Not dead. Just...uh...what are you doing?”

Victor just looked at him, shaking, eyes wide and confused. It took Yuuri a moment to catch himself, realizing he'd still been speaking in Japanese. He shook his head and asked again, in English, and Victor wordlessly pointed toward the other side of the room.

There, on top of another stack of boxes, half-obscured by a shadow, was the offending, eight-legged visitor.

“It's just an _ashidaka-gumo_ ,” Yuuri said with a placating little smile. “Ah...a huntsman spider. You don't have them in Russia?”

“ _Nyet_ ,” Victor insisted, shaking his head. “Just kill it. Kill it, _please._ ”

“Victor Nikiforov's afraid of a little spider?” Mari scoffed, but she swooped in and trapped it under a cup like it was the easiest thing in the world.

As she carried it outside, Victor visibly deflated, and suddenly there was nothing Yuuri could do but slap a hand over his mouth to try and stifle his own laughter. Victor pouted. “You're laughing at me,” he groaned.

He couldn't help it. For so long, Victor had been like a god – untouchable and otherworldly, one such an unattainable level that he still couldn't believe that somebody so famous and talented would ever be impressed with someone like _him._ But something as simple as arachnophobia? It was humanizing in a way, like a reminder that Victor wasn't a god, but a man.

A man who was still clutching his dog like a security blanket.

“I woke you, didn't I?” Victor asked.

“N-no,” Yuuri sputtered, his laughter dying out as his cheeks flushed. “I was just...thinking. I should...probably let you sleep.”

“As if I can sleep knowing there are things like _that_ crawling around...”

Yuuri stifled another giggle, his mind quieting just a little as he went back to bed.

* * *

Yuuri's gaze had always been drawn to Victor's eyes when he skated. He'd always loved to watch those icy blues gleam in the rink lights, half-lidded and brimming with whatever emotion the choreography called for: elation, melancholy, fury, or a whole range of others that Yuuri could hardly even name.

Slowly, though, he began to notice his body.

Victor was lithe and strong – not too broad, but far from skinny. His body was a trim and efficient machine, honed through years of practice in his craft. It showed in his movement, every stretch and flex calculated and precise, but still so beautiful that it felt like he doing it without a single thought. Like he was born with the choreography already ingrained in his bone and sinew.

Yuuri couldn't help but focus on the way Victor's muscles moved underneath his form-fitting clothing. His eye was drawn to the light glinting against sweat gathering at his temple and the line of taught tendons in his neck. His body was hard, but his face was so soft, his eyes gently closed as he spun on the ice, lips lightly parted.

The man was beautiful in a way that Yuuri had never thought a person could be.

It wasn't just on the ice that he noticed – he began to see details of Victor's beauty in other places too. The way his nose wrinkled when he laughed, the way his long eyelashes matched the light platinum gleam of his hair, the soft curve of his hips and the striking dip of his collarbone. He started to notice the smoothness of his voice and the way his tongue twisted so delicately around foreign syllables when he tried speaking Japanese.

He marveled at the softness of Victor's skin, and found himself fascinated by the callouses on his fingers.

It was new and different, but never intimidating. It took him months to put a name to the stirring in his gut that he'd begun to feel whenever Victor's fingers grazed against his bare skin, or even over his clothes. He reveled in how his heart raced when he thought of feeling more.

* * *

“You really never had a lover before me?” Victor asked him, his voice soft as he let his fingers graze over Yuuri's bare ribs.

“No,” Yuuri answered. He laughed as he pushed Victor's hand away from the ticklish spot over his hip. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Victor shrugged. “You're attractive, for one.” He pressed a kiss to Yuuri's jaw. “ _Very_ attractive.” Yuuri snorted. “You don't think so?”

“I don't think I'm not. I guess I just...never gave it much thought.”

Victor absently toyed with a strand of Yuuri's dark hair – it was getting long now, and sweat still made it stick to his forehead. “Why?”

Yuuri turned in Victor's arms, letting their legs tangle under the messy sheets as he snuggled up to his fiancé's chest. “I had crushes before...once or twice. But I guess I just never thought of myself as...as a _lover._ I always figured there was something...wrong with me.”

Victor frowned. “There's nothing-”

“I know,” he said. “I know _now._ I was told over and over again that I was just a _late bloomer_ , but I don't think that was it. I think...I think I just felt it differently than other people.”

“Attraction, you mean?”

“I guess.” His eyes were heavy, Victor's scent and warmth enveloping him and intensifying the effect of their afterglow. “Maybe it was just buried a little deeper than it is with everyone else.”

“Maybe,” Victor offered, and he pressed another kiss to Yuuri's forehead, holding him close. “What does it feel like now?”

“What does it feel like to you?”

“Hmm...” Victor stared at the ceiling, squinting as he mulled it over. “I've never thought about it much. But I suppose it feels like an itch...one that gets worse the longer it's ignored, but when it's dealt with-” He smirked, nuzzling against Yuuri's hair and breathing in deep. “Well...more than satisfying, to say the least.”

Yuuri smiled against him. “Sounds about right to me,” he said, and he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep feeling warm and gloriously sated.

And, most importantly, far from broken.

 


End file.
